The Fourth Exorcist
by Kusabiishi
Summary: He wasn't born; he was made. He wasn't trained; he evolved. He reached the maximum level that an Akuma could achieve. Nearly human already, his "father" helped him bridge the gap. He helped him hide his true nature behind a scar and taught him how to truly be "human", even if that had never really been his intention.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Weird idea that I found in my "Long List Of Story Ideas I Had Like Two Years Ago" folder and decided to play with. Probably not doing it justice, but hey, I'm having fun with it! Hope you guys enjoy it and that you're not completely confused by anything, I guess? Haha~

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DGM—and that's probably a good thing.

Minor edits done on 1/30/2015.

* * *

It was like his whole body had been set on fire, pain pulsing through him as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Struggling against the pair of hands holding him down was all he could do. Every time he so much as twitched his fingers, the shape he took changed, like a snake shedding its skin in favor of a new one. From black hair to blue, tanned skin to pale porcelain, his appearance kept changing dramatically. When the writhing agony came to an abrupt end, so did his shape shifting and without even giving him a moment to register what had happened, asphyxiation set in. Immediately, his body began giving him demands that he didn't understand. His lips moving without making a sound as he tried desperately to ask a single question.

What's going on?

Bright blue eyes flew open as the hands on his slender shoulders tightened their grip, though not painfully so. Again, he struggled against the stranger's hold. His eyes stung, as if pricked by a needle, water beginning to accumulate on the surface of them.

_What is this?_

"Woah, woah! Calm down! You're okay now!"

The man holding him down had a deep, melodic voice that struck a chord with him. _Lord Noah_, something inside him told him. Like an alarm bell going off, his body started screaming at him to _run._

_What is this?!_

Something wet ran down his cheeks. He didn't understand! It— It wasn't raining, so why— No! Now was not the time! Now was— It was—

He needed to run away. Lord Noah was going to kill him_._

"You have to _breath_, little one! Like this!" Lord Noah spoke, sucking some invisible substance into his mouth before releasing it from captivity. "See?"

No matter the desire to run, the pressure swelling in chest was making it impossible to think of much else. It felt like it was crushing him. As Lord Noah commanded, he did his best to imitate his actions, opening his mouth and roughly taking in the formless substance. A gasp broke past his pale lips as the pain in his chest started to subside. With each 'breath' he took, the pressure dissipated more, like it was a reward for doing as Lord Noah had instructed.

The most immediate problem was solved and he tensed up as fragile blue eyes met the stifling amber ones of the dark-skinned man holding him down. He wasn't struggling anymore. If anything, his limbs refused to move.

_Run away._

This awful, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew and something akin to a gasp escaped his throat, the water leaking from his eyes falling even faster now.

Now that his fighting had finally ceased and his "breathing" was beginning to even out, disregarding the strange noises coming from his own throat that sounded more like a dog's whimpering, Lord Noah's lips turned upwards into what the humans called a smile. Smiles were supposed to help weren't they? He'd read that in a book once. They were supposed to calm people, warm them, but not this one. The feeling wouldn't pass; it told him to get out of his Lord Noah's sight, to run away as fast and as far away as his legs would take him.

"L-L-Lord No—"

A finger touched to his lips. Lord Noah hushed him and he obeyed, the action being enough to scare him into silence. Lord Noah stopped to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks, the man's smile never ceasing even when he visibly flinched at the touch. A strange, soft sound escaped his throat against his will, but it was more like the whine of a wounded animal than any noise a human could make.

"Allen," the man in front of him said. "That's your name."

"N-No, my name's—"

"It's Allen now."

Blue eyes looked up at his Lord Noah; he didn't understand the purpose of changing his name, but he didn't dare question him further. Beneath those stifling amber eyes and the man's scrutinizing gaze, Allen's only comfort was searching the room for something else to do look at, but the better part of the room was obscured from his line of sight by his Lord Noah.

"Look." Allen obeyed, looking up as his Lord Noah stepped out of the way to reveal a mirror. He sat up fully, no longer leaning back again the solid white couch and found someone other than himself looking back at him from the other side of the mirror. They had hair whiter than freshly fallen snow that clashed with what had once been the color of rust. Pale porcelain skin replaced the dull brown of before and the skin around their eye swelled with what appeared to be a fresh scar, forming a pentagram above their eye and stretching all the way down the left side of their face. It reminded him of a lightning bolt.

Blinking back at the blue eyes reflected in the mirror, Allen's head tilted slightly to the side as he took in the change of appearance. When had he done that? Was that really him? He reached up to touch the pentagram, jumping slightly when the reflection mimicked his movements. He pressed two fingers to it and winced; it was sensitive and very tender to the touch.

That person in the mirror really was him, wasn't it?

"You're no longer an Akuma, Allen."

"Then what am I?" he asked, staring at what he now realized was his own reflection. His Lord Noah merely pointed at something—his left arm, specifically—and Allen looked down at it.

He screamed.

An ugly, red, gnarled hand stared back at him, the telltale sign of an Exorcist embedded into it as if it had been _burned _into the skin. He recoiled at the sight of the glowing cross on the back of his hand.

"W-W-what is—"

"This is your 'Innocence', Allen." The dark-haired man leaned in to inspect it, but stopped short of touching it. Wide, blue eyes looked up at him, hoping for some kind of an explanation. Why him?! Why had the Innocence attached itself to _him_?!

Wh-what was going to happen to him...?!

"From this day fourth, Allen, you're human." Allen wanted to say that made no sense, perhaps that the man was crazy. Because he couldn't be human. It was impossible. Everyday, he'd felt things he didn't understand, but once upon a time, he'd just been another mindless killing machine. He'd evolved, as all Akuma did and had been able to forgo following vague orders in favor of doing what he desired to, but this...?

"Th-that's n-not..."

"Possible? But it is. It's a gift, Allen."

"A gift?"

Had he done something to deserve something so rare as a gift from his Lord Noah, especially one like _this? _It didn't even seem like it could be real in a million years.

His Lord Noah nodded, smiling once again. "I guess I'm trying to butter you up."

"Butter me up...? A-are you saying..." he paused, raindrops falling from his eyes once more, though he wasn't sure they'd ever truly stopped. "Y-you're going to e-eat me?"

His Lord Noah slammed his palm against his forehead and Allen winced. Didn't that hurt? Why would he do that? Was he punishing himself for letting his plans slip? "No, Allen, I'm not going to eat you; it's an expression. It means... I'm doing something nice for you, so you might return the favor."

"Oh..."

Allen sat there, staring at his Lord Noah. With the hand that had previously touched the pentagram above his eye, he felt the wetness flowing freely down his cheeks that didn't seem to show any sign of stopping now. He looked back to his reflection, the blue eyes that were he now knew were his own had become red and puffy, not terribly unlike the scar on the left side of his face.

Was he truly human?

"L-Lord Noah—"

"My name is Neah."

"Lord Neah..."

"No, no," he said, waving a finger in front of his face. A strange, but not unpleasant, sound escaped his throat. "Call me 'Neah'. _Just _Neah."

"Ne... N-Neah..."

Blue eyes looked up into amber, at the man who wore a smile on his face. A strange warmth blossomed in his chest and all Allen could think to do was return that smile as best as he could.

* * *

Blue eyes stared intently on the creature creeping across the fallen tree trunk that he was crouched before. It was small and red with black spots covering its back and he ignored the sound of crunching leaves and twigs behind him in favor of observing the small creature.

"_There _you are, Allen. I've been looking all over for you."

"Neah, Neah!" Allen said excitedly, gesturing with his hands for him to come and look at what had just become his newest discovery. Neah drew closer and leaned forward with his hands resting on his knees to get a good look at the creature Allen was excitedly pointing at. "Look!"

He chuckled and Allen's face lit up as he looked back to him. "So excited over a little ladybug?"

"A ladybug?" Allen asked curiously, brows arching at the revelation. "So, there's a sirbug?" As if trying to answer his own question, he looked over the rest of the trunk for any bug that might be the one he was searching for. What color was it, he wondered? If a ladybug was red, then would a sirbug be blue? Or perhaps purple? Neah laughed and Allen's lips puffed up into a pout. "What's so funny?"

"There's no 'sirbug', Allen. There's only ladybugs."

"Oh..." Allen muttered, eyes turning back to the speckled beauty he'd spent the past half an hour observing. "That sounds lonely..."

Neah reached over and ruffled his white locks, messing up the small ponytail on the side of his head that Mana had been kind enough to help him with earlier. Allen let out a short whine as he pushed the man's hand away. "You're messing up my hair, Fa—" He stopped himself from finishing his sentence. His face flushed a bright red as he furiously combed his hair back to how it had been before, only succeeding in making the mess worse and loosening his ponytail further.

"'Fa...'?"

Neah looked at him expectantly, but Allen only adverted his eyes, refusing to meet the man's piercing gaze.

"'Father'?"

Allen stiffened. How did he guess that?! There were lots of words that started like that, weren't there?! Allen looked back at the man and he watched, mortified, as a smile spread across Neah's face. He could feel heat rising to his already red cheeks. With amber eyes boring down at him, Allen started fidgeting, twiddling his thumbs together. "W-well, I, um... A-A father is someone who made you, right? ... A-and they teach you a lot and care for you and raise you and..."

Neah laughed, Allen shrinking back. W-was he mad? He didn't sound mad—and he didn't do that thing he does where his eyebrows dip in the middle of his forehead and he rolls his eyes up to look at the ceiling!

"And you think of me as your father?"

Allen only stared a moment, glancing around. Whether he was looking for an opening to run away from the conversation or hope Neah's brother would burst onto the scene, he didn't honestly know. Finally, he hastily nodded.

"Okay."

Wait. Okay, what?

Allen cocked his head to the side slightly.

Again, Neah laughed. "You can call me Father." With the clarification, blue eyes widened. Quickly, Allen's shock turned into something else and he beamed at his newly-appointed Father.

"Really?!" he asked, receiving only a nod and a smile. Like a child, he jumped up and down a couple of times excitedly, repeating the word. "Father, Father, Fa_ther_!" The third time he said the word, he jumped at his Father, flinging his arms around him.

"Whoa-oh!" They toppled to the ground. The impact was painful, probably more so for his Father than him, but judging by his laughter, he didn't seem to care much.

Truth be told, neither did Allen.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Nearly a month later and finally, I've got the second chapter here! I got really turned around in terms of what I was planning on doing with the story. Or rather, I wasn't sure in the first place and decided I didn't like what I had. But I think I've got it a little better sorted out now, though. I hope. Haha. Thanks to those of who reviewed and to those of you who liked the first chapter enough to favorite it or add it to your alerts! I hope this chapter holds your interest!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DGM!

Minor edits done on 3/13/2015.

* * *

Allen frowned deeply as he sat in the one room he was confined to within his Father's "Ark". His Father had certain responsibilities he had to attend to with the "other side" of his family and his Uncle couldn't always sit with him while he waited for his father to return, so he'd been stuck here for the better part of two hours alone.

Well, not _alone_; he did have_ one _companion.

"When do you think Father's going to be back, Tim?"

His only company—a gold golem that seemed to have taken a liking to him since his father had introduced them—had found a spot in his white hair to nestle in and from where the golem sat, it was impossible for Allen to see him.

There was no response. Allen wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, considering the winged creature didn't even have a mouth.

When he did finally get an answer, it was in the form of the room's door appearing out of thin air again, after what felt like an eternity of waiting. Allen leapt from his spot on the couch as his Father stepped into the room, oblivious of the golem that had tumbled off his head and onto the tile floor from the speed of the movement. His father had barely stepped over the threshold of the door when Allen practically tackled him, yelling, "Father!"

If not for the door quickly being shut, Allen likely would've thrown the both of them out of it.

Allen knew from the minute he embraced his father that something wasn't right. Even though he smiled, it didn't meet his eyes and even someone as ignorant as Allen could see that.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, Allen," he said, heaving a sigh as his eye lids drooped. He was exhausted, Allen noted, yet he still posed the question he'd been waiting all afternoon to hear. "What do you want to do today, Allen?"

Humming softly, he considered what they could possibly do together that was relaxing and wouldn't cause his father further stress. After a few seconds, one of his trademark smiles lit up his face and he said, "I want to meet your family."

An unnerving silence settled over them in the next moment when his father didn't answer. The longer he went without saying a word, the more nervous Allen became until his smile slipped off his face.

"Father?"

"You can't," his father finally responded and Allen honestly wasn't sure whether he should be upset over the answer he was given or relieved he'd at least gotten one. Regardless, he found his lips puffing up into a pout. It wasn't fair that his father got to see them all the time, but Allen didn't know a single one of them. What they looked like was a mystery to him, as was their names.

"I don't want you getting attached."

"Why would that matter, Father? Aren't families supposed to get attached?" His father should have chuckled and reminded him about that cat with curiosity that got killed because of it, but a tense silence permeated the air instead. The way he pursed his lips made him look unusually sinister.

The way his father continued to stare forward, glowering at nothing in particular, made Allen wish he remembered how many lives a cat had and if that logic applied to humans, too.

"F-Father?"

Allen shrank back, arms slipping from around his father. His ire wasn't directed at him, Allen knew. Instead, it was like he was looking straight through him. For a moment, Allen's attention turned to what his father _was _looking at: The mirror behind them.

Whatever his father saw in their reflection, Allen certainly didn't.

"Because one day, you're going to help me kill them."

Allen's head swiveled back around to look at his father, his blue eyes wide.

"But..." He paused before he could dare to protest. Why would his father want to kill his family? His father was very nice; he was kind and gentle and Allen knew that from experience. He was confident that his father wouldn't decide to do something so terrible on a whim. Without a single doubt, he could say there was a good reason for it.

Allen wanted to be by his father's side. For being so good to him, he wanted to repay him in whatever meager way he could.

"I don't think I'll be very good at that, but I'll do my best for you, Father."

Finally, amber eyes looked at him again, no longer interested in the reflection behind them. Allen flashed him the biggest, _brightest _smile he could manage and his efforts were rewarded when his father's grim demeanor faded away. When his father's frown was replaced by a familiar grin, a hand landed roughly on his head, tousled the white locks.

"Father, you're messing up my hair!"

Retreating from the offending hand, Allen tried to salvage the small ponytail on the side of his head. More than a couple locks of hair escaped the red ribbon holding it captive and after a few seconds, it became all too clear that it was an impossible endeavor. Pouting, he untied the ribbon that his uncle had used to pull it up earlier that day.

"You're a good boy, Allen." Allen continued to pout as the ribbon was taken from him and used for its actual intended purpose. His father looped it around his neck and tied it into a neat bow before patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go find something to do in town."

Allen nodded, stopping only to look in the mirror at the ribbon now wrapped perfectly around his collar. He frowned; he liked it better before.

* * *

Exiting the gate created by his father, they entered a dark alleyway and quickly left it behind in favor of the nicer part of town. It was bustling with life, children running and laughing and playing while adults went about their daily duties, whether that was tending to their stall in the market or shopping at one.

An innocent smile spread across Allen's face and to anyone looking at him, they would say he was the picture of naivety. Things like this served as a pleasant reminder of why he'd been so curious about humans in the first place, even before he'd become one himself. Even if they were doing the same thing, the way they did it was always new to him. They had different mannerisms and tones. Even the way they moved differed from one another. Some things were easy to mimic, but not this and that was what made it—

What was the word his father had used once? Fascinating?

Yes, that was it!

The duo wandered around the marketplace with no particular aim. It was the more innocent of the two that prattled on about everything that struck his interest, tugging on his father's coat and whispering when it was a person and gesturing with his hands when it wasn't. It only fueled his father's amusement and more than once, the other man let out a long laugh.

Allen was glad that his father was at least in a better mood than he had been back in the Ark.

But then it all came to a screeching halt. His father came to a dead stop.

"Father?"

"Hide." It was a barely a whisper and for a split second, Allen wondered if he'd heard it at all. But somehow, he knew that his imagination hadn't conjured up the slight panic in his father's voice. Allen didn't stop to ask why or if he'd heard him right. Whatever the case, Allen listened. He stepped behind his father and into his shadow.

In the span of only a few seconds, he faded into it. White hair turned pitch black and every inch of him—his eyes, his skin, his clothes—followed suite. He fell formless into the ground and into the black shadow like that was all he'd ever been.

He _became _his father's shadow.

Just then, he heard the source of his father's alarm.

"Neah!" Not a second later, a little girl crashed into his father. If she'd been more than that, Allen would've been surprised that he'd managed to stay standing upright. "Why'd you run off so fast?" Allen peered up at the two of them from his father's shadow, his curiosity flaring. Asking was what he wanted to do, but it was unwise and so he kept his lipless mouth shut. He would have plenty of time to ask later, he tried to reassure himself.

But who _was_ this girl?

His father laughed, but it sounded different. Something about it struck a chord with Allen, but he wasn't sure why. What was this feeling? Why did his father's laughter seem so much... _brighter_? Why didn't he laugh like that around him?

The girl in question was small, with spiky hair so black that it was shone blue in the light. Her skin was pale and her dark eyes were far more intense than any other child he'd seen before. Something about her made Allen want to run far, far away.

It was the same as when he had first laid eyes on his father. He recognized the familiar panic. The _fear._

She was a Noah.

"You have to admit it was pretty boring."

She hummed and a smile spread across her face that put even Allen at ease. "That's true. Then let's go do something fun, Neah!"

She tugged on his arm, but his father shook his head, apparently conscious of Allen's growing interest in this girl and the discussion they were having. What were they talking about? What was boring? If she was a Noah, then this was his father's "family" and his father never told him what he did with them. Though Allen had never attempted to veil his curiosity, his father hadn't showed the slightest inclination that he wanted to tell him. It was because of what he said earlier, no doubt.

"I have something I need to do today, Road." The girl's face contorted into a deep frown for only a few seconds before that bright smile returned to it with a vengeance. They talked a few more minutes—which mainly consisted of her trying to pry into what his plans were—before she departed at last, enthusiastically waving her hand at him as she went. Several minutes passed and Allen was starting to wonder if his father would ever give him the signal to come out of hiding when at last he did. "Okay, Allen, you can come out."

Part of his father's shadow rose up and separated from the ground, the inky blackness gradually turning back into the white-haired man from before. Suddenly standing on two legs again, he stumbled forward right into his father's arms. His legs felt like jelly—his whole body did, in fact. It felt like he was melting.

"Allen!"

"I-I'm fine," he said, shaky on his legs. "I just... haven't done that in a while." He winced as an aching pain shot through his skull, like it was about to crack open.

His father noticed, of course. He was the smartest man that he knew, after all. He noticed everything. "Let me look at your eye," he said, pulling Allen's Innocence hand away from it and making Allen tilt his head back so he could get a better look at it. "We should go back. Your scar's starting to bleed."

"B-but—"

He cut himself off as he bit his lip, realizing that his eye _was _bleeding. Now that his father had mentioned it, he could feel something wet sliding down the left side of his face, where the pain originated from. It was a gross feeling and Allen moved to touch it, so he could identify it.

He knew his eye was bleeding and that only made him curious, even if it burned.

What was the color of blood?

What did it look, taste, smell and feel like?

Even though he'd been an Akuma, he couldn't remember. He'd killed plenty of people, but those memories were hazy, like a dream that had been forgotten upon waking. If not for his ability, he might've well and truly thought it was a dream.

Before he could touch his face, his father pushed his hand down. But why? Should he not know? Did he not want him to? He would have to kill the Noah, wouldn't he? Did he dare to ask if it mattered one way or the other?

A hundred and one questions swirled in his head, yet he hadn't the will nor the strength to voice them. Compared to only a few minutes ago, he was growing steadily weaker. It felt as though they'd only just left the Ark, yet he was pulled up and back into the Gate that opened at his father's command.

The minute they stepped through the gate, any concerns about that mysterious girl and the blood were swept away almost in their entirety, replaced only by disappointment.

He'd been looking forward to spending the day with his father, even if they'd only been walking around town.

And he'd been the one to ruin it.

* * *

When they arrived back in the piano room, there were no questions asked. Allen sat down on the stark white couch as his father retrieved a few things from another part of the Ark and when he returned, he began cleaning the blood off his scar. Allen squeezed his eye shut as the cold, damp cloth was dabbed against the sensitive skin. The painful throbs had dwindled into a dull ache.

"Does that hurt?"

"Uh uh."

It was a bit of a lie; there was a small tingling pain where the cloth touched, but he didn't want his father to worry. There were better things he could spend his time thinking about.

The single blue eye that stayed open throughout the process looked up at his father. "Was that girl your family, Father?" he asked, remembering what had sparked the spell and why he'd needed to his unique ability in the first place. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he gave in and asked the question, hoping his father would bother to answer. His father's eyebrows dipped inwards and Allen adverted his gaze. Uh oh... He'd made him angry, hadn't he?

But instead of getting angry, his father sighed. After a long minute of silence, he said, "Yes, she was, but don't worry about her. Let's talk about your eye."

"Okay..."

"Do you know why it's bleeding?"

Allen shook his head. This was the first time it had happened. Was he supposed to know?

"Allen, this is your natural form, you understand?" Allen's eyebrows furrowed. Of course he understood that. Even when he'd been an Akuma, he'd had a 'natural form', though he couldn't remember what it looked like. Sensing his confusion, his father continued, "You changed your form."

"But I've done that before... Is it because I haven't done it much since I was an Akuma?"

His father offered him a smile. "That's right. We also talked for a good ten minutes." Had he grown unused to his ability? Had he "forgotten" how to use it?

"Father, you said I was human now, didn't you?" he asked as his Father finished cleaning away the blood and threw the cloth onto the table beside him. Allen barely spared it a glance, but didn't miss the red stain on it. So that was the color of blood, then. It was a pretty color, like that lonely ladybug that had once caught his eye.

In response to Allen's question, his father nodded. "If I'm human, why can I still shape shift, like when I was an Akuma?"

That had been his ability: Changing his form and his appearance. He could assume the identity of anyone or anything, whether that was a person or their very shadow. While taking their appearance was the easiest part of his mimicry, their personality was another story. In spite of his bleeding eye, the feeling of changing his form was familiar; it wasn't unusual and it was just as easy to accomplish. It was when he'd changed back that he had a hard time.

"Well... It's more complicated than that."

"... What do you mean?"

"This," his father said, touching the pentagram on his forehead with his hand. "Hides your nature from Akuma, Noah and even some of the more... observant Exorcists. And this—"

This time, he gestured to his left arm.

"This is what allows you to move freely. It keeps my brothers and sisters, and even myself, from being able to force you to do something you don't want to. It also helps to protect you from the Innocence that the Exorcists have."

"Protect me?"

His father hummed before explaining, "As an Akuma, your body naturally produced Dark Matter and that's still true. Your Innocence protects you from Exorcists being able to attack that." Nothing had changed, had it? He could vaguely remember a time when, as an Akuma, he lost the desire to kill and forgot the need to follow his Lord Noah's orders. Could it be that he'd had this Innocence the entire time?

"So, in the end... I'm still..."

His father didn't speak for a moment. Blue eyes bore into him, prickling with fresh tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. Instead of speaking, a hand landed on his head for the second time that day and his hair was ruffled as his father let out a laugh.

"Barely. You're human to me."

Allen managed to force a weak smile, but it was hard to hide his disappointment when the first few tears made their way down his cheeks.

He wanted to be human, too, just like his father.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope that wasn't too confusing, guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Look an update! Shocking, right?  
I've had this chapter written for a while, but took my sweet time getting it edited. Sorry!

**Disclaimer: **Never will I ever own DGM.

* * *

Blue eyes stared passively at the blood splashed across the white wall, staining its purity. Tilting his head to the side, he inspected it, running his finger through the sticky substance and rubbing it between his middle finger and his thumb. It just as easily spread from one finger to another as it did drip down the wall.

It was the first time—that he could remember, anyways—that he'd done more than just taken a quick glance at it. It was his insatiable curiosity that urged him to touch it, smell it, taste it...

He gave it an experimental lick and blanched at the metallic flavor that reminded him vaguely of the time his Uncle Mana told him to try licking a lamppost in winter, which had probably been one of the least enjoyable experiences in his short life. His Uncle hadn't made the mistake of cracking a joke around him without further explaining it again.

Leaning down, he wiped the remainder of the liquid on the person it had come from.

"Sorry," he whispered mournfully as he turned away from the dark-skinned woman. "I would've liked to call you family at least once."

Allen didn't know if she could still hear him, but he hoped that she could. He wanted her to know that he was sorry, even if she could never forgive him for it. His father had given him a job and he had to complete it; it was his father's will, after all.

Proceeding down the quiet halls of the white Ark, a scream echoed down the corridor—one that was very familiar to Allen. "Father!" the panicked whisper slipped from his lips. He continued down the hall, moving faster now and verging on a sprint. As he neared the end of the long hallway, he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the silhouette that stretched across the floor from the room ahead.

_The Earl_.

A small whimper escaped his throat and he flinched when that one little sound was enough to draw the fat man's attention. Even though Allen was practically invisible against the white walls and tiles with the snow white locks that obscured his eyes and the cloak that donned his shoulders, he felt naked under his former master's gaze.

From somewhere up ahead, his keen ears picked up on the sound of a rasping sound and in a strangled gasp, a familiar voice said, "Run..."

"Fa-Father?"

His single, stuttered word echoed off the walls. A sense of foreboding gripped Allen, like the shadows themselves were closing in on him.

His father spoke again, but this time, the words weren't strangled; they weren't struggled with. "Run away!" he screamed at him and Allen gasped, eyes welling up with tears as the Earl started in his direction.

Like a coward, he leapt through the gate opening up beside him without saying anymore and it shattered and broke apart as he passed through it, his face colliding painfully with the cobblestone side street when he tumbled clumsy from the gate. Pushing himself into a sitting position with a small hiss of pain, he nursed his scraped up cheek with his opposite hand.

He was in an alley, he realized, though he honestly wasn't sure if he'd chosen this destination or his father had.

"Father..."

He waited, blue eyes scouring every inch of the nearby vicinity for any hint of his father. He'd be following him soon, wouldn't he? He had to. Father had always told him to stay put when they were separated; he'd been told not to move a muscle when he got lost. So he had to follow him. He had to guide him home.

There was no way that his father was... dead, right?

It felt like an eternity passed before it finally happened. A gate opened up overhead and Allen lunged forward, catching his father before he could collide with the ground.

His father's body was limp and the blood splashed across his chest was quick to coat Allen's chest and hands. It dripped down onto the stone, not showing a lick of sympathy for either of them.

Allen was far from a genius; he was clueless and naive and no matter what he did, humans were hard for him to understand. _Life _was hard for him to understand.

This, however... He understood this.

He understood when he lowered his father to the ground and pressed his hand to the gaping hole in his chest that he was losing too much blood. He understood that he was neither smart nor skilled enough to even hope that he could repair the damage done.

What was he supposed to do?!

"Fa-father, wh—"

A single finger pressing weakly against his lips silenced him and his bright blue eyes stared into familiar amber ones. The light in them was started to fade. Allen could feel his hands shaking.

He knew what happened when someone went to sleep like this; they never woke up again. They "died", that's what his father had told him. The thought of his father doing that scared him, not just because he had no place to go if he was gone.

More than anything, Allen just wanted to spend time with his father. He didn't want him to die. Ever.

"Find... Mana..."

"B-but what about you?!"

"Don't worry about me..."

Allen recoiled, as if he'd been struck and an emotion he'd never felt before erupted in his chest. Like fire was eating away his insides, he wanted to scream, though not in agony. "I'm _supposed_ to worry about you!" he yelled through the tears that started down his face.

"Go find your Uncle!"

Allen bristled when his father found the strength to scream back at him. The strange feeling swelled in his chest, becoming so strong that it produced an ache like someone had their hand wrapped around his heart. He didn't want to go; he wanted to stay. He wanted to help his father and patch his wounds as the other man had done for him so many times.

More than anything, he wanted to protect him from the Earl who would no doubt be following after them shortly.

Allen didn't care if he spent every day fixing his hair after his father messed it up. If he could see him smile everyday, then he wouldn't mind. But that was beyond his grasp, wasn't it?

"But—"

"_Go_, Allen."

Allen's bottom lip quivered, the fiery feeling in his chest giving away to a sinking one. Dread, he realized, because he knew what was coming and there was little he could do to deny it now. Looking at his father hurt and it brought a familiar stinging sensation to his eyes.

They were beyond simply hoping now.

"Father, I-I want to protect you..." Allen said, words shaking as he reached forward and took one of his father's hands in his own. A gut-wrenching sob escaped him as the tears already working their way down his face started creating bright red, angry trails as evidence of their existence. "I-I don't want you to go-o-o!"

"I-It's not something that I—" he cut himself off, coughing roughly. He coughed and coughed and coughed and Allen didn't know what to do, not even when the rough hack escalated or when blood splattered across Allen's cheek and dribbled down his father's chin. Wide blue eyes stared at the man whose lips were wet with his own blood.

He had to save him! There had to be a way! There had to—

Allen's thoughts came to an abrupt stop as something occurred to him. Perhaps there was a way. Perhaps his father could still survive, even if it wasn't as Allen wished.

"Use me, Father," Allen said, barely recognizing his own voice for the newfound strength it bore. "I can protect your memory. No matter how long it takes! Even—even if it takes decades or... or centuries, I—"

"A-Allen, if I—"

Lifting a single finger to his own lips, he motioned for his father to hush. Stop wasting time. Stop expending energy trying to explain things that he would either never understand or already did.

It didn't matter if he disappeared. If his father could make use of him, nothing else mattered. To fulfill his father's goals, he'd kill, but he'd do far worse to save his father's life.

This was why he'd been born. It was his purpose for being alive and Allen had every intention of fulfilling it. It wasn't something he _had _to do. What pushed him on was his own desires and wishes.

"I-It's okay," Allen said, stuttering as he did his best to wipe away the tears cascading down his cheeks. "It... It's my turn to protect you, Father."

His father stared up at him with his amber eyes, somewhat dazed.

"Just tell me what I need to do," Allen said, keeping his voice steady. He had to be brave. These tears that he wiped away were the last ones that he could shed. He had to be strong until the moment that he could see his father again, even if it were only in the split second before his father's consciousness overwrote his own.

_Weren't you the one who got attached, Father?_

* * *

Allen's legs burned from the exertion of running without stop. He had been looking for Mana, but every turn that he made just led to him being more lost—which wasn't much of a surprise, considering he was directionally-challenged.

For the third time that day, he changed his appearance again and weaved into the crowd. It didn't matter what shape or form he took, the Earl seemed able to pick up on something that alerted him about who he was. Even if he slowed his steps and calmed his breathing, he'd soon see that oversized hat peaking over the heads of the humans only a few steps behind him.

What was he supposed to do, besides keep running?

Even though Allen's lungs screamed at him to give them a rest, he didn't stop running. Stopping meant the Earl would catch up to him and that would make everything his father had done thus far a wasted effort.

Allen would never let that happen.

"Mana!" he yelled over the bustling town square when he at last saw a glimpse of him. He pushed past people without even caring to utter a single apology to them. He needed to get to his Uncle to do what he'd failed to do for his father. He had to protect him at all costs.

The black-haired older brother of his father turned to look at him. "Y-yes, can I help you?" Mana asked, confusion etched in his eyes when he saw the face of a stranger. To Mana, he was a decidedly human woman with black hair, dressed modestly in neutral colors. Even if he hadn't thrown off the Earl—even if he _couldn't_—he had to hide his real face from him.

What little advantage his father would have over the Earl was something that Allen didn't want to carelessly give away.

Allen didn't stop running to explain. Instead, he grabbed his hand as he passed, pulling him along with him, his Uncle stumbling enough that he almost sent them both tumbling to the ground.

"E-excuse me!"

That was his Uncle's poor excuse for a protest that came several minutes after he'd started dragging him away from the area. Allen didn't answer him and a minute later, the same thing followed.

"_Excu_—"

"_Shut up_, Uncle!" Allen yelled, voice verging on a scream as his frustration reached its peak. He hated himself for not being able to do more for his father and he was angry at the world for taking him away, even if he would come back to them one day.

No, that wasn't right.

He'd come back to Mana and the person known as Allen would disappear without a trace.

His Uncle Mana gasped from behind him and his weak protests ceased. He stopped questioning him. Nothing else was said as the two of them advanced through the city, dodging and trying to outrun the Earl's shadow with precious little success.

From the moment Allen had made the decision to become his father's vessel, he never realized there would rarely be a day where he _wasn't _running.

Whether it was the Noah and their Akuma or the Exorcists and their Innocence, he would always be fighting and running for his life until the moment his father woke up.

He'd keep running until he died; he'd keep fighting until his existence on the Earth faded away.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **At long last, here's another chapter! Updated two stories in one weekend. It's been a while since I did that!  
Hope you guys like this chapter, even though I was pretty lazy with the editing. OTL

* * *

"Where did you go, Mana?"

A question meant for himself slipped from Allen's lips though not a soul heard it. Breathing hot air against his cold palms in attempt to warm them up, unfamiliar gray eyes searched the streets for the person who'd disappeared again in the dead of night.

This was the third time he'd run away. He was starting to think that chasing after him was a useless endeavor. After his Father's death, his Uncle had changed. Allen had, too.

The difference was that Allen had found his reason for existing. He lived to bring his father back from the other side, to be his vessel when he _did _return. On the other hand, Mana had broken. Allen had done his fair share of mourning, but Mana took it too far. It was all he seemed to do anymore.

More than once, his Uncle had run away. Perhaps it was better to say he got lost, but regardless, there was a feeling of foreboding that lurked in Allen's chest. It wasn't likely he'd see his Uncle again—that was the impression he got from it.

Allen never felt more alone in the world than he did then, knowing that his only companion had apparently dropped off the face of the Earth. The dark streets that he wandered down seemed longer and colder than he knew they were.

"Maybe I should just give up," Allen said aloud without thinking, immediately cursing himself for it. This was his precious Uncle, not some stranger!

Without a doubt, his father would be ashamed and Allen whispered an apology to him for the transgression. A moment of weakness wasn't a luxury that he could afford. Surely, he would be ashamed.

Even now, the Earl still sought out Mana and the mysterious shapeshifter that had protected him. That thought renewed the enthusiasm of his search.

Allen had to find him, lest the Earl do so first.

He didn't realize quite how lonely a search it would be until years had passed with no sign of his Uncle.

* * *

Messy brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, its owner covered in dirt and grime. The gunk that painted his clothes and skin served as a harsh reminder that it had been a long, _long_ time since he'd gotten a proper bath. Years ago, that would have bothered him. Now, it was pushed to the back of his mind.

He'd learned the hard way that people didn't take pity on a filthy street urchin with a "demon arm". Hell, they didn't take pity on clean ones, either—not when they had a "demon arm". The glares had never been lost on him, but never had he expected humans to outright _attack _him over the Innocence his arm was made of.

The humans bothered him more than the Akuma did.

With his one "good" hand, he sat on the concrete the circus tent had been pitched on, cleaning and polishing the performers' tools. As far as the ringmaster was concerned, his left arm was useless. It was the only way he'd gotten out of being paraded around like some freak.

Allen Walker wasn't a freak; this arm was a gift that his father had given him on top of so many others.

Never did Allen voice the sentiment since there was no one in the world that would agree with it.

All the conversation in the back passed right over his head. Every word said was another not meant for him as the circus staff avoided his gray eyes. They walked around and passed him, never acknowledging that he existed.

This was fine. It was survival.

The thought irritated him. Humans were intolerant. They were arrogant and disgusting and made his fingers twitch. His father and Uncle were the only people that kept him from not agreeing with the Earl's decision to destroy them. Often times, Allen found himself wondering how he'd ever been curious about such awful creatures.

His lost Uncle was the only reminder he had that not all humans were built the same. Not _every_ human was fashioned to be ignorant, but the good ones were few in numbers. Locating them was like finding a needle in a haystack.

No, that was a lie. Allen would have an easier time with the needle.

Humans found it far too fitting to dwell on the appearance of an arm that was otherwise normal. It had the right amount of digits and it worked as was intended, yet—

"You're still the same! So hot-tempered."

Allen pursed his lips, wondering when he'd started polishing the ring in his arms with a furious ferver. He barely glanced up at the godawful man that had approached him, neither wanting to provoke him nor let him see his frustration, though the former was substantially easier. He didn't stop polishing the ring, trying to focus more on his task than the clown that hid his ugly mug behind layers of makeup and a painted-on smile.

By far, he was the most vile human being Allen had the misfortune of encountering.

"Every time I see your face, I lose my motivation."

_My sentiments exactly, _Allen wanted to say.

Ignoring the insult was easy enough, but the man pushed him down in an effort to tear his attention away from his job. Allen held a deep hatred for taking on the form of such a young child for that very reason. No matter how strong he was in his natural form, such a small body could only do so much against a grown man.

"And your disgusting arm!" The words the clown screamed made him grit his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to give the man a disgusting arm of his own, to burn the flesh from bone and give him a limb as ugly as he was. Years of abuse related to the gift his father had given him had turned him bitter. The curiosity and enthusiasm that once lit up his blue eyes had waned before disappearing altogether.

"You can't even move it, can you? How has a useless fellow like you managed to stay here?"

He laughed and laughed, like the words coming from his filthy mouth were some kind of hilarious joke. Allen could only glare in return, knowing full well that his pain _was _a joke to him.

For lack of a better term, Cosmos was scum of the Earth. People like him littered the world and turned it into a cesspool. They spread their unhappiness around and Allen could only hope karma would come back and bite him in the ass. He hoped they'd pull him down to the level he _should_ be at—the one that was below even "freaks" like him.

"What's with that look?!" he yelled, his smile slipping from his face as he punched him in the chest. Allen bit back a groan. Short of fighting back—which never worked—silence was his only method of rebellion.

_Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing your suffering, _Allen told himself over and over, even as the next attack came. A well-placed kicked to the stomach that knocked the air right out of him.

"You're just a piece of trash!"

Laughter filled the air as the clown continued to kick him. They kept coming and Allen's only defense was clenching his teeth against the pain. If Cosmos saw his weakness, Allen would never live it down. He'd hold it over his head for the rest of his days with the circus and he'd abuse it as often as physically possible.

The satisfaction of seeing him like that wasn't something he deserved.

* * *

The nausea in his stomach dwindled away at a slow, decrepit pace after Cosmos finally left, damning him to an evening without dinner all because of that fake smile he flashed the ringmaster. Funny that the new clown, who was only here for a short while, was more popular than Cosmos and the ringmaster continued to lick that vile man's boots.

Cosmos wasn't anything special; Allen didn't understand the infatuation with him at all.

Biting his lip, he picked himself up off the ground and began picking up the scattered props. He finished his job for fear of losing tomorrow's supper, too. Food was precious, especially with his body supporting his Innocence, too.

As Allen completed the task, placing the last prop in the box, something inside it moved. Allen startled, letting out a quiet cursed as he leapt away. There was no way Cosmos could be in the box; he didn't have the finesse to sneak back in and squeeze into the small space with Allen laying in the room.

He watched the contents of the box bob up and down for a moment. Several items were knocked out before he started in that direction, moving slow.

When something leapt from the box, Allen yelped.

"A-"

He paused as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Instead of seeing Cosmos or something even remotely similar to the poor excuse for a man, he saw...

"A dog?" he asked before he spotted the ball caught in its mouth. "Hey! Give that back!" Before he could take the ball back from the dog, it took off, tearing out of the tent like a bat out of hell. If his body wasn't already aching, he would've screamed. _That damn dog took off with one of the props!_

And if it got away with it, what did that mean?

No supper! _Again!_

He gave chase, yelling after it. The dog ran through the snow with more nimbleness than Allen could ever manage with such stubby legs. He slipped, slid and stumbled across the stark white stretch of land as he tried to keep up with the dog.

And then he slipped for the last and final time. He stayed down this time, limbs aching. It still hurt to breathe after Cosmos beat him and he didn't shy away from the coldness of the snow pressing against his battered body and heated cheeks. A sliver of a smile wormed its way onto his face.

Funny, he shouldn't be smiling. If anything, he should be screaming, crying, maybe even killing that bastard before he could damn some other kid to the same torturous existence—even though Allen was far from a child.

Instead, his smile persisted. "Don't stop walking," he muttered under his breath, reminding himself of what his father had told him on more than one occasion. "Keep moving forth."

With some amount of difficulty, Allen pushed himself back up just in time to come face to face with the dog. They were quiet, the two of them passively staring at each other until the dog bent down and licked his left hand. His mouth fell open.

Every day since he'd left the Ark, he could feel the humans' eyes on him, judging him and his arm that didn't align quite right with their expectations.

This person—this animal, this _dog_—was the first one to accept it, barring the one who'd given it to him and his Uncle Mana. Allen's smile widened when the dog nudged the ball towards him. "I see... You're lonely, too, huh?"

Against his better judgment, he picked the ball up and threw it. When the dog returned with it, he threw it again and again, wearing a wide smile the whole time. It barely registered to him that he laughed the entire time, his grumbling stomach forgotten for the moment.

No matter how far he threw it, the dog would catch it with ease. It would leap into the air and catch it expertly in his mouth. Whoever's dog he was, he certainly was a circus dog at heart.

When he caught it, Allen would jump for joy, cheering the dog on as it ran back to him. If asked how long that had gone on for, Allen wouldn't be able to say. This peaceful time that they had together persisted until someone saw fit to interrupt.

"Allen!"

He nearly slipped in the snow when he heard his name yelled out. It echoed across the circus grounds and Allen's body went rigid when he realized that he recognized that voice. Swiveling around on his heel, he faced the source of the voice.

And he froze when he caught sight of him. His mouth went dry.

"There you are, Allen," the middle-aged man said, leaning over to pet the dog on the head that had met him halfway. They stayed like that for several moments, Allen too shocked to say anything. Finally, the man glanced up at him and gray eyes met amber. "Are you Allen's friend, too?"

Why was the dog's name Allen?

How could he name a dog after him?

Question after question attacked him and he was unable to answer any of them. Hell, it was hard enough to _voice _them. It was several seconds before his mouth finally moved and he formed a reply.

"U-Uncle Mana?" Allen asked, his gray eyes wide. The plastic smile on Mana's face never faltered and he felt himself shiver at the sight of it. It was the smile of a broken man, one who was held up by nothing but a meaningless facade. There was neither a hint of shock on his face nor a twitch of a frown.

Something told Allen he'd be disappointed when his Uncle spoke—and he was right.

"Hm? How is it that you know my name?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **GUYS. IT HAS BEEN A LONG. FUCKING. DAY.  
I could just scream. In fact, I already did. Several times.  
At least I got this chapter out, right? That was more than I thought I'd get done this morning.

* * *

"Why did Mana forget about me?"

After finding each other again, that was the question he found on the tip of his tongue time and time again. They'd been together again for something of a year now and Allen knew less now than he did then. Why had Mana forgotten him? Why had he forgotten damn near _everything_? One day he was talking about avoiding the Millennium Earl and the next, he'd forgotten even the baby brother he'd been looking for.

Allen spent too much time mourning his father. Too much time had passed with him feeling sorry for himself. Every day, he stopped to think of the man and shed tears over the loss of him, but Mana went well beyond simple crying. He'd lost his goddamn _mind_. There was so little of his Uncle left that Allen would dare say he'd died when his Father had stopped drawing breath.

"You're not going to have anything to come back to, Father," he muttered as he leaned heavily against the wall, watching Mana perform from the sidelines. Normally, he'd be right there alongside him, but he'd given the man some half-baked excuse about not feeling well.

While it wasn't a total lie, it also wasn't the whole truth.

Allen had became painfully aware of someone tailing them and every day, they became bolder and braver, taking more chances. They were getting careless and Allen was determined to catch them before they could do something.

He needed to protect Mana and bearing in mind that one goal, his gray eyes took in the sight of the crowd that gathered around Mana. They were boys and girls of all ages, fascinated by Mana's skills, but none of them struck Allen as the person he was looking for. It was possible that they were elsewhere, lying in wait.

When he thought that, a flash of gold soared past his line of vision, as if sensing his dilemma. It fluttered through the air with ease, calling to mind a creature that had gone missing years ago when his Uncle had passed. "Tim?" he whispered hopefully, breaking the small creature's flight pattern as it came to almost a complete stop. Allen couldn't help but grin, eyes shining with life that hadn't been present in them for the longest time. "Tim!"

Before Tim or Allen could close the gap spread out between them, something pressed against the back of his skull. The metal mouth of a gun touched the back of his head and wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with a deep frown and glare to match.

"Who the hell are you, kid?"

"I-I'm just a kid!"

Even coming from a scrawny-looking boy like himself, his words remained hard to believe. It was an obvious lie and anyone with eyes, ears and half of a brain could figure out there was more to him than just what the eyes could see.

"Yeah, right," the man said, the thick, repugnant smell of smoke filling Allen's nostrils as the man exhaled. "You noticed I was following you weeks ago."

Allen's eyes narrowed. With ease, he accepted that there was probably no way he could convince the man that he was exactly what he appeared to be at first glance.

So gave him the answer he so desired. "Allen," he said vaguely, keeping his gray eyes on the performance unfolding on the other side of the street. "My name is Allen."

"And who are you?"

"Did you know my Father?" Allen asked, countering his question with one of his own. While he couldn't see the stranger's face, something in his voice sounded familiar, but it proved impossible to place. Was it perhaps his father's memories triggering this feeling of deja vu, even though they lay deep within his skull as asleep as his Father himself was?

The man's fingers twitched. The gun's barrel faltered against his head for a brief moment, as if he were considering pulling it away. Something about his question had sparked something in him.

"You mean Mana?"

"I mean Neah," came Allen's blunt answer. He opted out of sugarcoating his words. This man was following them and one way or the other, he'd figure out that the man he called "Father" was not the one he traveled with.

That he bothered to ask Allen questions, it meant he wasn't here for him. The Noah still knew nothing of him. This one was after Mana.

Was he an enemy or had Father known him?

His lips curved gently upwards. If this man was their enemy, he'd just have to kill him. Anyone that put his father's plan at risk needed to be put down, whether they were human, Noah or otherwise. It didn't matter to Allen. If they interfered, they had only one thing waiting for them.

_Death, _whispered the sadistic, animalistic and bloodlust-driven monster that was the part of him that remained a demon in disguise. His father was wrong; he was the furthest thing from being human. And that was fine by him. Humanity was something he didn't want nor need.

"_Neah_ is your dad?" he asked before he took a deep breath, breathing the smoke from his cigarette deep into his lungs. "You think I'm stupid, Kid?"

"Yes."

Instead of shooting him like an _intelligent person_ would have, he proved Allen right by smacking him over the head with his free hand. Letting loose a string of curses unfit for a nine-year-old's mouth, he clutched at the spot where he'd been hit and he yelped when the man took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look him in the eye.

Finally, Allen got a good look at the man. He had a mane of thick, red hair and a face partially obscured by a white mask. Somehow, he still wore glasses in spite of this, but the one detail that Allen was most concerned with was the silver cross on his breast.

_An Exorcist. _

In one fluid motion, Allen had knocked the man's hands off him and leapt away. The redhead stared a second, jarred by the fluidity of Allen's movements before saying, "I'm on Neah's side."

"_You're _on my father's side?" Allen asked, spewing venom and hate at him in those five words. "Don't make me laugh, _Exorcist_."

If he was their ally, then where had he been during the final confrontation? Where had he been when his father had lost the battle against the Earl?

Where had he been when his father had _died_?

"Don't make _me_ laugh, half-pint! There's no way you're his brat!" This time, he did fire the gun and Allen bounced out of the way to avoid the Innocence-laced bullet with relative ease. A high-pitched scream signaled the abrupt end of Mana's performance and the Exorcist cursed, as if he'd forgotten they were standing on an open street.

"Allen?!"

"Don't come over here, Mana!" Allen screamed out, but the man took no heed and Allen took his eyes off the gun for only a second—just long enough for the man to fire and Allen to clumsily stumble backwards and land on his ass. But the bullet never hit him.

Allen blinked, gray eyes trying to register the sight in front of him. _Red, red, red_, it was the only color that jumped out at him. The familiar sight of blood stared back at him and the feeling of bile rising in his throat was the only thing that kept him from screaming. It was horror he felt as Mana collapsed to the ground before him, as that red liquid soaked the cobblestone streets underfoot.

Allen's mouth moved and his eyes prickled with tears, but words refused to come to him.

Mana smiled.

Bitter tears stained pale cheeks a deep red. Swollen eyes stared forward absently and without purpose, the life having been sucked out of him when it bled out of Mana. It had been so long since he'd sat down that he'd forgotten why he'd stayed. Why was he here, covered in snow? What was he waiting for? A miracle?

"Oh, how sad!"

_The Earl_, he realized. That was what he was waiting for. The familiar, grating voice sent a shock through his system, yet he knew this was the man he'd been waiting for. This man was the next step in his plan, the one that ultimately had to end in his father's revival.

His voice came from right above him and he looked up at where he stood over the grave to stare into the Milennium Earl's cartoon eyes.

"'Mana Walker', huh?" he asked, staring at the gravestone with an eerie glint in his eye. "Do you want me to revive your daddy for you?"

_Please, _Allen wanted to asked because he almost wanted his Uncle to carry this burden instead, let him be the one to suffer with the endless waiting as Allen had done the last thirty years. But he couldn't do that, could he? He was the one that failed, not his Uncle.

He'd failed twice.

_I have to use every resource I can_, Allen thought to himself, staring up at the fatman. _I have to leave Father with all the tools that he needs. I have to make an identity for him._

With that thought, he didn't run like his father had taught him to. Instead, his lips parted and he said, "Y-You can do that?"

Another tear dripped down his face. If the Earl knew anything of his identity, he made no indication that he did. He said nothing of how Mana's ever-changing companions over the years had all been the same person, up until Mana replaced him with that dog. The Earl knew nothing of his identity; he hadn't noticed how Mana's ever-changing companions over the past thirty years had all been the same person, barring the dog that Mana had replaced him with.

He almost wished that he _would _notice, that the long years would come to an end and he could be with his father again in the aferlife. He no longer had his uncle to keep him company. From this point forward, he'd be alone and there was no going back. There was no chance that he'd find his uncle again, not like before, because now he lay sleeping beneath the dirt.

The years leading up to his father's revival would be lonelier thant the ones spent without his lost uncle. It only made the tears come faster, like the weight of every tragedy would crush him.

"Of course I can!" he screamed and tapped his umbrella—his _golem_, Allen reminded himself—on the grave he was leaning on. Behind him, an Akuma's skeleton dropped out of the sky and landed with a loud thud. "Just call his name and he'll be called back from the other side and into this body!"

Allen hated it. He wanted to wipe that sickening grin off the madman's face. Allen loved Akuma and the Earl abused them. He loved his father, but the Earl had ended his life. He'd love his uncle, but he'd been taken away from him, too.

His fingers twitched. Even his Innocence responded to his growing hatred for the man, pleading with him through the silence to drive his arm deep into the bastard's chest, but Allen did no such thing. Instead, he said, "J-Just call his name?"

Thirty years ago, Allen might have believed his claims that the dead would return to life. As foolish and naive as he had been, such was only emphasized when he was staring at his dead father in the was stupid enough then to place his faith in anything that would've claimed to give his father back to him.

Today, however, he knew better. Yet still he stood here, binding himself to the Earl in the way he hated the most.

"Yes!"

Allen hesitated, but the burning desire building in his chest bid him to give his father every tool he would need, regardless of how it was attained. He needed to supply him with anything he might need so he could see him again, if only for a mere second before his consciousness was overwritten.

The thought of seeing his father again spurred him onward and he let loose a yell of, "M-Mana!"

_You'll only suffer for a second, Uncle._

_Just give me one second._

It was a request that he wasn't granted when Mana's soul was called into the skeletal form and he _screamed _at him. "Allen! How dare you bring me back as an Akuma!"

Allen flinched at the sound of his Uncle's voice. It was his voice, yelling at him as he'd done on several different occasions in his youth. It was the voice of a man no longer broken by loss. His heart clenched painfully at the sound of it. The dream of one day waking up and finding his Uncle no longer fostering those painfully fake smiles was realized and destroyed in the same second.

"M-Mana..."

His voice quivered and his eyes prickled with tears. For the first time in a long time, Allen felt like the child he'd left behind when his father had passed. His fondest memories shouldn't have been called back by the _yelling _of all things. One upon a time, his father or uncle chatizing him would have been frightening, but he couldn't deny that he missed it.

He'd give anything to have his father and Uncle scream at him for something dangerous he'd done because he was too young—too _stupid_—to understand that every action had a corresponding consequence.

"I curse you!" Mana screamed and the bladed arms slashed the left side of his face. A scream tore its way from his throat, the pain both fresh and familiar.

Grimacing, Allen whispered, "Thank you, Uncle."

Allen barely had the words out before his claw morphed, tearing through his uncle's Akuma form as the Earl disappeared into the night, off to torture someone else with memories both fond and frightful.

Blood trailed down his face from the slash mark that started on his forehead and ran all the way down the side of his face. The blood seeped into his collar and dyed it a violent shade of red as the pentagram faded back into sight. It etched its way into his skin like it belonged there—and it did.

He stared down at the ugly, altered appendage that his arm appeared to be before collapsing against the brick wall behind him. Just by crying and activating his Innocence, he'd exhausted every ounce of energy in his tiny body.

"I'll just rest for now," Allen muttered as he looked to the rapidly fading away Akuma. A sad smile spread across Allen's face as he spoke, "Y-you should, too, Uncle."

"I'm sorry, Allen... And thank you... I... I loved you..."

A whimper escaped him as the body disappeared into the night as he tried to be strong. _Be strong for Uncle, like you always have. He's fragile, _he tried to remind himself, but the tears refused to stop or even slow.

"S-say hi to F-Father for me!" he yelled out to the sky, as if his Uncle were still around to hear him. Seconds became minutes and minutes became hours, but Allen only continued to grieve. They were both gone and picking himself up was difficult. The light gone from his life, every thought faded into darkness and it wasn't until someone finally interrupted his mourning that he he moved.

It was a person that was both familiar and _un_familiar. The redhead that had shot Mana when he came between them in their fight stood before him, offered his hand to him. He offered a way in, a chance at weaving a new identity for his father to abuse when he returned.

Allen should have said no. Ultimately, this man had caused his uncle's death, yet the ill will he bore him didn't stop his tiny hand from taking the man's own.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **What are timely updates? I don't know, that's a good question.

Ridiculously minor edits done 10/21/15.

* * *

Allen exhaled an exasperated breath of hot air as he trudged down the street, the mid-May chill of Portugal sending a slight chill crawling up his spine. When he'd taken Cross Marian's hand, dodging debt collectors was hardly what he expected, yet that was _exactly _what he'd spent the last few years doing.

Couldn't he have picked a better General to get him involved with the Exorcists?

In a split second, Allen had decided to forge an identity for his father to hide behind when he awakened and what had been part of bigger, more elaborate plan became a quiet contract of servitude. It was an apprenticeship ground in paying the master's bills and occasionally relearning something his father had taught him long ago.

Somewhere behind him, someone shouted at him. _Another unpaid debt, _Allen thought with a deep sigh.

He had to correct himself. This wasn't servitude; it was outright slavery. Less demanding would be going back and swearing an oath to the Earl. At least then he'd die with dignity and would no longer need to run from every other shady-looking individual because Cross opted out of paying _them_, too.

The latest stranger to demand payment strode up to him with a saunter full of confidence, puffing his chest out in an attempt to intimidate the much smaller, teenage boy in front of him.

"You're Cross's student, righ'?!"

_No, _Allen wanted to say, but denial would only make the pursuit twice as bad as usual. Allen flashed the man the brightest smile he could manage, giving him the true picture of innocence in all its forms before turning on his heel and... sprinting in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" the man screamed as Allen darted down the sidewalk. He could hear his feet pounding against the ground behind him. He wove between the droves of people on the skinny streets, vaulting over the occasional stand-up sign in his path as the slighted man continued to follow him.

Gray eyes searched the bars as he passed them, looking for the redheaded man that should've been contained within _one _of them. There was no trace of him and instead, the chase continued for a good ten minutes until Allen turned a corner and bumped right into someone.

Allen plowed right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. A groan slipped past Allen's lips, just as one did from the stranger's. As Allen moved to pick himself up, it dawned on him that he'd just slammed into a perfect stranger and knocked them down. With ease, he bounced back onto his feet. "D-desculpe!"

The foreign word slipped off his tongue and he couldn't help but feel as though he'd said it wrong, but it was one of very few words that Allen knew of Portuguese. He'd been relying on the English speakers the entire time he'd been here and unluckily for him, the debt collectors _all _spoke English.

Allen breathed a sigh of relief when the stranger responded in perfect English, "It's fine, Boy."

Allen looked up at the man that was nearly twice his size and nearly recoiled at the sight of his face. At a glance, the man looked strikingly similar—but visibly older—than his father. Closer inspection had Allen spotting every difference, but a familiar foreboding feeling rocked his body like a tidal wave crashing against him. Whoever this man was, he wasn't a mere human.

_Noah_, he growled inwardly, gray eyes settling on the man in front of him with a barely contained glare.

Tanned skin, black and wavy hair, brown eyes with a mole just beneath the one. He had a handsome face that would be easy to remember, but being in his presence chilled him to the bone. His fingers twitched and his Innocence screamed at him to invocate and attack, but Allen opted out of doing so.

"You okay, Boy? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Bringing his gloved hand up to toy with a few stray strands of white hair, Allen forced a laugh. Both a blessing and a curse was the debt collector who rounded the corner then, screaming at him in Portuguese. They were words that Allen didn't understand in the slightest and he had every intention to turn and run until he felt an arm wrap around his waist.

Allen yelped and probably would've smacked the man had he not started speaking and ultimately brought the man tailing him to a halt. The exchange was in Portuguese and Allen spent the entire conversation glancing between them. He stood stiff and lifeless, more like a mannequin than a human being.

Allen wanted to say that the man was helping him and wouldn't ask for anything in return, but that thought was cut painfully short when he felt a pair of lips pressing against his temple.

His face burned and this time, Allen actually _did _hit him.

He pulled his arm back and drove his elbow sharply into his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. The man grunted, holding where he'd hit him with his free hand before forcing out a laugh. "A little shy today, are you, _Gatinho_?"

"_You_—"

Allen didn't get to finish his sentence. Like he didn't exist, they continued their conversation. There was laughter thrown in both directions and Allen was surprised when the debt collector left without a fuss. Gray eyes blinked owlishly, shocked by the display, though he didn't understand a lick of what had gone on.

"Look, I took care of your problem. Don't you feel bad for hitting me now?"

The words broke Allen out of his stupor and instead of expressing his undying gratitude for freeing him of the greedy goon Cross left him with, he turned and punched him right in the jaw. "What the hell was that?!"

His usual polite mask forgotten in that moment, he couldn't help but glare at the lecher who finally uncoiled his arm from his waist to nurse what would be a bruised cheek in a few hours—or that _would_ be the case, if he were human.

"Careful," he said with a half-hearted laugh. "I _did_ just save you from a debt collector, Boy."

There was no threat in his tone, yet Allen couldn't help but go on the defensive. He couldn't tell if this was some random act of kindness or some trick, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that there was no way the Noah—the _Earl_—knew about him.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Allen countered as the man pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Allen's nose wrinkled up at the mere sight of it, but the smell was twice as bad. He took a several steps away from the man, getting out of the range of the smoke only for him to lean over and blow it right in his face like the complete asshole he had to be. Allen erupted into a fit of coughing.

"As bad as your Portuguese is, I'd hope not," he said with a carnal smile. Allen had half a mind to sprint in the opposite direction, go back to finding his bastard master who'd abandoned him in the droves of people. Certainly it was better than whatever this man was thinking while wearing a smile like that. Nothing could convince Allen that his thoughts were innocent ones. "What's your name, Boy?"

Allen thought about lying. The way his hair on the back of his neck rose in the presence of this man made the idea twice as tantalizing. The aura that flowed off the Portuguese man in waves was dark and familiar; it was the same one he'd felt when he'd met his father and when his father met that girl.

Honestly, he'd be more surprised if this man _wasn't _a Noah and if he _was_, he'd inevitably run into him again. Hiding his name would just prove to be a wasted effort.

"Allen," he said simply, holding his hand out for the other man to shake. "And you?"

When he took his hand, the urge to flee intensified. His face flushed a deep red when the man brought his hand up to his lips and laid a kiss upon his knuckles.

"Tyki," he said, mimicking Allen and omitting his surname.

As if he'd been burned by the contact, Allen wrenched his hand away. Gray eyes darted in every direction, in search of an escape of some kind. For once in his life, the flash of red he saw behind the taller man was a relief.

"I-I'm sorry," Allen yelled as he rounded the man, careful to keep his left arm out of his sight. "I have to go!"

He fled from the man, leaving him standing there without offering so much as a goodbye. Not once did he look back as he put distance between the two of them, even as his arm screamed at him to turn and strike him down. Now that he was far behind him, Allen found himself almost wishing he had an excuse _not _to go to Cross, but the man had already slowed to allow him time to catch up.

"Who was that?"

"He's a Noah," Allen said, a deep frown present on his usually stoic features. From the corner of his eye, he cast a glare at the man. Even after all this time, the memory of Mana falling, bleeding, _dying_ hadn't faded. Cross had aimed at him and hit Mana instead. He blamed him for that, as well as himself.

"Which one?"

"Pleasure, Lust or Desire, judging by how he was acting."

"You narrowed _that_ down..." Cross muttered irritably, making Allen's glare intensify.

"I'm sorry," Allen bit out venomously. "Did you want to try? Maybe if he grinds up against you a little, you might get a better idea."

Cross blanched at the mere idea of having another man touch him and said, "I'll pass."

"Yeah, I thought so," Allen said, setting his sight on the street before him. He focused his attention on their next destination and saved energy by removing himself from any conversation Cross might've attempted to strike up. It wasn't until the train station was in view that Allen asked, "Did you find out anything?"

"The Prime Minister is a Noah, too."

Allen nodded without responding. There was nothing to say, after all. Their job here was done; they'd located not one, but _two _individual Noah, one of whom likely fell into one of three vices.

If they could identify everyone who was a Noah, it would make things easier later for later, whether it proved advantageous once Allen became an Exorcist or his father needed to know when he awakened.

Whether Allen would still live to see the information's use or not didn't matter.

* * *

Something of a year later, Allen found himself traversing the dark corridors of an old, decrepit church, wanting to do nothing more than scream.

"Stupid cat," he muttered, glaring at the shadows as if they were at fault for Timcanpy getting eaten. Allen had tried to tell him not to shrink to the size of a golf ball or venture off on his own, but did he listen? No. They had the same father, so _of course_ he wouldn't listen. Allen sighed, wondering for a minute why he chose to blame the cat for it. "Stupid _Tim_."

Whether Timcanpy was the issue or the cat, Allen's problem remained the same: He couldn't find the cat.

"Father will be angry if I lose him," Allen muttered, glancing around again before allowing himself to sink into the shadows. His blackening form disappeared against the brick as he slunk along the walls in search of the culprit that had swallowed his father's precious, golden golem.

"Aha!" he yelled, garbled voice echoing from the black abyss as he caught sight of the animal. The shout startled a swarm of bats and he joined them as they took flight and breezed past the cat in a swarm. "Got you!"

He picked up the cat, pushed him with a shadowed hand into the farthest room until the cat's back touched the back of a chair with an unexpected gentleness. His silhouette bled back into the pale-skinned, white-haired and gray-eyed Exorcist hopeful as he blinked incredulously at what he'd grabbed. It wasn't _just_ a cat. "A-a woman?"

The inhuman quality disappeared from his voice, replaced by a younger, rhythmic one. Before he could even register that his capture of the cat had been successful, something clicked around his wrist. Handcuffs.

"A cop?!"

She switched positions with him, forcing him to sit where she'd once been, and started a game of twenty questions that Allen was doomed to lose from the very start. It was typical. One little mishap and every human turned to question them. One little misunderstanding and he was in handcuffs, even though a place like this had to be used by more travelers than just him.

Okay, so maybe he'd thrown her down a hall and onto a chair, but he still hadn't _hurt_ her.

Anyone else would've said it was hilarious, both the situation and his streak of bad luck. To him, it was _infuriating_.

Bad enough was that Cross had abandoned him, run off overnight in spite of the fact that he was his key to getting into the Order. When he needed him the most, all he did was send a letter of recommendation ahead of him.

_If I knew that was going to be his solution, I would've forged one years ago and saved myself the agony, _he thought, trying to hold the nervous smile on his face as the woman went down her long list of questions.

"I-I was just looking for the cat!"

"The cat?" she asked curiously, glancing down at the cat lounging lazily at her feet. He nodded desperately, tugging at his bindings. He could easily slip his hand out if he wanted to, but opted to wait patiently for the moment.

"He swallowed something of my master's! It's very important that I get it back!" he said, wanting to slap himself silly for even _considering _that Timcanpy could ever belong to Cross Marian of all people, even if he did take credit for creating him. She continued to look at him, trying to gauge whether his words were truth or lie and as if triggered by the standstill they'd come to, shots rang out.

They shook the whole building, dirt shaking loose from the crumbling ceiling and covering them in a layer of dust that went largely ignored in favor of the sound of gunshots.

She muttered a single word—a _name_, he realized—that he couldn't quite hear. Like she gave him much of a choice, she shouted, "Stay here!"

Allen didn't respond. Instead, he watched her back retreat down the hallway to what would certainly be her death if he didn't intervene. It was a question of whether he should follow or go ahead and escape with the cat before back-up showed up to accuse him of additional charges.

If he left now, her blood wouldn't be on his hands. It was her own fault for charging off like that with nothing more than a pistol in hand to face the creature that fired several bullets in quick succession. On a good day, what she'd done was stupid.

In one ear, he could hear his father encouraging him to leave and live another day, but in the opposite one, he could hear his Uncle's voice bidding him to save the woman from her own heroism.

He could live with himself if she died, but he shrunk at the idea of his Uncle disapproving of his every action. His mind conjured up an image of Mana staring down at him, disappointment and dismay brimming in his dark brown eyes. That was what did him in.

It made him slip out of his bindings, hands and wrists shrinking before reverting to their usual size when he was freed.

"Sorry, Father," Allen said as he started after the woman. "It looks like I need to greet someone else first."

* * *

**A/N: **I don't know if anything is going to come as a result of Tyki and Allen's meeting. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing and I haven't decided if I want to go forward with a romance sub-plot or not. Might be interesting, all things considered.


End file.
